


Homecoming

by bujeetles (Oboeist3)



Category: Milo Murphy's Law
Genre: Cockney Cavendish, Fluff, M/M, Milo's Improv Troupe, Pining Cavendish, post-escape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 07:50:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18796087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oboeist3/pseuds/bujeetles
Summary: On the day of his second abduction, Milo joined an improv troupe. Balthazar Cavendish realized he was in love. One night, both become relevant.





	Homecoming

Milo joining an improv troupe on the day he was abducted by aliens for the second time was probably the least interesting thing to happen, but it was the one that became the most relevant once they were back. Dakota apparently had agreed to pick up the young teen, but hadn’t remembered until the day of, at which point he had double-booked himself to some fancy restaurant on Ainmerb Street. Cavendish was having a night in instead., as he’d always felt especially out of place in the world of fine dining.

“Can you go pick him up for me, please? It’s only like a ten minute drive and then you can go back to your book.” he pleaded, fingers laced together and shades slid down his nose. They were the only thing that remained of his usual attire, the tracksuit having been substituted with an actual suit in a tasteful navy color. When he shifted, Cavendish could see the purple threads woven on the top layer, giving it a subtle shine. He looked extraordinarily handsome. 

“Does that ten minutes include Murphy’s Law?” he asked, but he was already putting a bookmark in place. He owed Dakota a great deal. More than he could possibly repay, in all likelihood. But their separation showed him that he at least had to try. Dakota was the most important person in his life. He should treat him as such. 

“Ok, probably closer to 20. Longer if the van doesn’t stay intact. It’s built to withstand alien artifacts though, so maybe it’ll stay in one piece.” Dakota said, carefully adjusting the two sides of his tie, trying to get them the right length. This was his fourth attempt at simple knot, and he was clearly getting frustrated. 

“Let me help with that.” Cavendish said, standing from his chair. He heard two of his vertebrae pop with the action; he had probably been sitting for too long. A good book would do that though, and ‘The Practical Guide to Surviving Mechanics’ was an old favorite. 

His fingers were quick and efficient, years of practice made the action almost automatic, and yet when he inspected the final knot it wasn’t a simple nor the Prince Albert he usually preferred. Rather it was a Balthus knot, a complicated and unconventional choice. Far too artsy for Cavendish, but somehow just right for Dakota. Even the short length of the tie drew similarities to his usual chain.

“Thanks.” Dakota said, looking up at him. This close he could see the laugh lines crinkle around his eyes, a dimple forming on his cheek. There was such softness to Dakota, a comfort and familiarity. It made it difficult to let go. Leaving him had ached in a way injury never had.

“Well, we can’t have you looking out of place.” he replied, straightening the tie out carefully before stepping back, even though he’d much rather keep his hands on him. “Dakota, I...” He hesitated. No, now wasn’t the time to bring up that revelation. He’d have to earn Dakota’s trust back first. Then he could tell him about certain, relevant feelings. “I hope you enjoy yourself tonight.”

Dakota, seemingly unaware of his inner turmoil, smiled and threw on his jacket. 

“You too, Cav. Hope Murphy’s Law has a light touch.” he said, and walked out the door. 

Cavendish considered his own state of dress. He was far more casual in the evenings, his jacket on the hook, collar unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up. He didn’t feel much incentive to dress up properly, but the air had a touch of chill on it, so he took Dakota’s jacket instead of his own. It was warmer, that was all. It had nothing to do with missing him.

The drive to the Danville Community Center was uneventful, but as soon as he parked he heard something pop in the engine, and steam start to rise. Overheating of some sort, which was actually not the worse situation. So long as he could get more coolant and fix where it had leaked out, the van could run. He carefully propped open the hood to allow the steam to escape more easily, building pressure was never a good idea, but especially around Milo. 

Volunteering to pick up Milo wasn’t much of a chore, because he rather liked Milo, evidenced by the fact he was no longer calling him Murphy. He was a dependable and cheerful young man, and Cavendish had great confidence in his ability to succeed.

He decided it best to go inside and warn Milo about their vehicular troubles, perhaps he even kept the necessary supplies in that backpack of his. Finding the room wasn’t difficult, it was late, and Milo’s voice was distinctive. Like a famous singer, though he couldn’t quite think who to compare him to. He approached the door carefully. 

“You will never catch me, Detective Miranda. I, the murderous Madame Bonheur, will never let you escape this mountain! Henchmen, fetch her!” Milo ordered, and his improv was surprisingly well-done, considering the stilted nature of his staged work. Opposite him the young lady, Lydia he believed, was playing her role with equal intensity, looking betrayed and angry. The adults were just sort of holding her up. The one wearing a construction helmet looked half-lost.

“You’ll never get away with this! The police will look for me, and all my evidence will point to you!”

“Oh hon hon, my darling, do you think I am a fool?” he asked, tilting up her chin to make her look at him. “*You* will send letters, you will retire to Corsica and slowly fall out of contact with those you love. They’d never think to look for your corpse here, and even less, to suspect the lovely wife of the president. You’ve been beaten. Jenkins, take her away.” he said, gesturing to the non-spaced our adult. 

“‘Course. Owt fer you, madam, innit?” he said, and Cavendish was broken from the scene. It wasn’t quite incorrect, not entirely, but it was unnaturally spoken, unintegrated. It was wrong.

“No, no, no! I refuse to let you continue on talking like Dick Van Dyke, it’s embarrassing.” Cavendish interrupted, and Milo dropped his role as Madame Bonheur. 

“Hi Cavendish! What are you doing here?” he asked, but he was so obvious pleased that it didn’t seem rude.

“I’m here to give you a ride home, Milo. I’m afraid Dakota had another commitment.”

“That’s alright. I’m glad to see you too!” he said, smiling brightly. The description of ‘a ray of sunshine’ was apt.

“Oh right, introductions! Guys, this is Cavendish. Cavendish, this is the improv troupe. We don’t have a proper name yet. There’s Lydia, Scott the Undergrounder, and Coach Mitchell.” 

“Pleasure to meet you all.” he said, and it was echoed back. 

“I though my accent was pretty good.” Coach Mitchell muttered, but Cavendish didn’t hold much sympathy.

“It wasn’t completely inaccurate,” he conceded. “But you’re focusing on all the wrong things. Lengthened vowel sounds might be present, but the core of Cockney is in glottal stops and replacing certain consonants.” 

“What do you know? You’ve obviously got a London accent.” Cavendish’s eyes narrowed. 

“A Cockney accent _is_ a London accent. From the East End of London.” Coach Mitchell looked appropriated abashed.

“Sorry. Accent work is tough. I thought I had that one down.” 

“I know. My elocution of choice is for clarity. Training away my original accent took many long hours, and even now I’m not entirely consistent. The challenges are many, but the rewards, if done properly, are great.”

“Yea, Coach Mitchell! It took me a while to get a good French accent too. I even went to some French classes, just to see how they pronounce vowels. It can be a lot of fun!” Milo volunteered.

“I like listening to audiobooks.” Lydia suggested.

“I listen to the overlanders voices through the vents.” Scott said, and awkward silence fell until Cavendish cleated his throat. 

“Well Milo, we best be on our way. You wouldn’t happen to have coolant in your bag, would you?”

“Sure do! What brand?” he asked, pulling two competitors out. Cavendish chose the one with less text on it.

“Wait!” Lydia said, running after them. “Where are you originally from, Mr. Cavendish?”

“Yea, you’ve got me curious.” Coach Mitchell agreed.

“An East End boy, miss, I am, I am.” he said, letting out an amused chuckle at their looks of shock. There were few advantages to his upbringing, but that moment of surprise was one of them. 

Perhaps Dakota’s blessing had been granted, because Milo and the van made it home in one piece, although one of the seatbelts had snapped in the back. But with only the two of them, that wasn’t much of a concern. Still, there was oil all up his arms from when he fixed the engine, and he had to keep pushing up the sleeves of Dakota’s jacket to keep it from getting stained. 

Cavendish made it into the apartment with some effort, and was able to wipe off the top layer of grime, though some had soaked into his skin. He’d scrub it off in his morning shower, he decided, and went back to sitting on the couch, disheveled and tired. He didn’t even finish the chapter before falling asleep. 

“Wakey wakey, Cav. Don’t worry, you don’t have to be all the way awake. I just need to turn the couch into a bed, so scootch over, kay?” he whispered, and through long blinks Cavendish could see the glint in his mismatched eyes. They trailed down to his neck, and he frowned. 

“You took off the tie.” he murmured groggily, pawing at the shirt. Thankfully, none of oil smudged.

“I know, I did feel a bit bad ruining your handiwork, but I can’t exactly sleep in it, can I?”

“I suppose not.” he said, but the answer didn’t satisfy as much as it ought to.

“Looks like you’ve had an interesting night.” he remarked, fingers lacing with Cavendish’s own, the black streaks looking like ore in granite across his pale skin. “Why my jacket?”

“It’s warmer, and soft. Like you.”

“Ouch, tired Cavendish can be a little brutal, huh?”

“No, soft is good. Soft is nice. I like soft. A lot.” he protested, bumping his head again Dakota’s shoulder before letting it rest there. His hair tickled his nose, and he giggled, too out of it to be embarrassed. 

“I should be recording this, for posterity.” Dakota mused, but he wasn’t moving. In fact, he seemed totally relaxed. ”How was Milo?”

“Hmm, good. Cheerful as ever. Remarkably good French accent.” he said, his voice muffled slightly by being said into Dakota’s shoulder. 

“That’s our Milo. Good kid.” he said, pulling his hand away from Cavendish’s grasp, though he still let the Brit hang over him like a sweater on the back of a chair. Distantly, Cavendish heard the creek of springs, the shuffling of cushions. He wrapped his arms around Dakota’s neck and his legs around his waist and didn’t let go.

“Nice sloth impression. I’m not a bed, though.” Dakota informed him, clearly amused. 

“I’m aware of that. I’m comfortable.” he huffed, and his mustache scraped along his chin, making him shudder from the prickling sensation. 

“Cavendish is clingy when he’s tired, who knew? Except you, probably. I imagine you did.” he said, his sentences a little run together.

“I missed you.”

“Aw, I missed you too, bud. Next time come along with me, your suit’ll actually make sense.”

“No, I _missed_ you. When I left. I thought I could ‘andle it, but I couldn’t.” He bit his lip. He wasn’t supposed to be saying this, he thought, but he couldn’t remember why. “I should shu’ up.”

“No, no, Cav. I get it. I was lost without you. I may have saved your life with the time machine, but the only reason I didn’t eat myself into a coma was you. You keep my head screwed on right. I think, maybe we need other.” he admitted, fingers curling in his hair, the other hand holding the small of his back. He could feel it, even through two layers. 

“You deserve better.” 

“Well, too bad, cause I’ve got who I want right here.”

“There’s things you don’t know about me. They might change your mind.”

“Nope, not listening to your insecurities right now.”

“Dakota...”

“Lalalalala, what’s that? I can’t hear you over how great my partner is.”

“Dakota.”

“Still can’t hear you.”

“Dakota!” he snapped, grabbing his face to make the noise stop. At that point, he forgot what he was supposed to be saying, made very much aware that there were very few places of them not touching. He wasn’t tired anymore, that was certain. 

“Hey Cav. You ever miss something you never did? I do. A lot.”

“What sort of things?” he asked, even though he knew. 

“Something like this.” he said, and closed the distance between their lips. 

Cavendish had read somewhere that first kisses were supposed to be electric, but this one is all thermal, warm and soft. 

It’s a kiss for home. 

**Author's Note:**

> ahh i know it's a little rushed near the end but i want my boys to be happy! tetsa continues to be the greatest, even though i'm currently in jail - hopefully this can get me out?


End file.
